Madness
by volibear
Summary: Tyki Mikk returns from an exile in Africa on a false charge, only to find that his life back home has been utterly ruined. Consumed by his lust for revenge, he sets out to deliver his own justice personally to those who took everything from him.
1. London

**I just had to write this. Just had to.  
Not much to say about it. Only that it's modeled after a combination of the movie and the Broadway musical. I tried to do the casting that would make the best sense, but some of it you might find a bit odd. I hope you like it!**

* * *

Blood. The crimson liquid that we have all seen – to some a gruesome depiction of ill meaning, to others a sacred representation of life – but to all, it is known to be the substance that dwells within the body. This blood, which was pooling slowly through the crevices of a cobblestone floor, belonged to a man who had spilled more of the dark liquid in his lifetime than any surgeon might ever have seen. For this man, driven by revenge, living only on his twisted desire for macabre, had fate decided to deem irony. The man's face appeared as a reflection in the dark substance spreading now on the stones of the floor around him. Reflected only by the flickering of a fire, which illuminated just a side of his face, blotted still by the crimson. His lips, also bleeding, parted and began to speak soft, sing-song words.

"_There was a barber and his wife,_

_and she was beautiful..._"

Blood suddenly began to spill from his mouth, but the words continued.

"_A foolish barber and his wife, _

_she was his reason and his life..._"

The blood fell from his mouth freely now, stealing away from his fading senses. There was a splash in the pool of blood that had spread ever so slowly atop the cobblestone as his form collapsed. In a heap, the man continued to mouth the words.

_And she was beautiful,_

_and she was virtuous,_

_and he was..._

His breath failed him and he trailed off as his lips parted for the last time, no longer moving.

"_Attend the tale of Tyki Mikk_

_His skin was pale and his blade was sleek_

_He shaved the faces of gentlemen_

_who never thereafter were heard from again."_

The ghost of a man, a slender dandy in pearly gray gloves and a matching waistcoat, appeared in the shadows of what seemed to be a chamber with a low ceiling. Shadows and silhouettes danced about the walls in the flicker of a furnace.

"_He trod the path trod not by the meek_

_did Tyki Mikk -_

_The Demon Barber of Fleet Street."_

A new shadow emerges within the flames of the furnace, taking the form of a large, rotund man with sleek muttonchops and a fitted business suit. The banker.

"_He kept a shop in London town_

_of fancy clients and good renown."_

Many more shadows materialized within the chamber, joining the two ghosts. Scenes of macabre, walking dead, bloodied and slit at the throats did they appear around the man on the floor. Eyes strangely impassive, they surrounded his bloody, unmoving figure.

"_And what if none of their souls were saved?_

_They went to their maker impeccably shaved..."_

The voices of the ghosts become louder and began to ring off the walls eerily. Their words became more and more distinct, speaking in unison.

"_Swing your razor wide, Tyki!_

_Hold it to the skies!_

_Freely flows the blood of those_

_who moralize!"_

More and more figures began to appear, their facial features becoming distinguishable in the flickering light of the furnace. The general, a tough, leather skinned man in a crimson imperial uniform.

"_His needs were few, his room was bare,"_

A priest, lean with pale skin in his clerical attire.

"_A lavabo, a fancy chair,"_

The tourist, who was meek with wire-frame glasses and an ill-fitted suit.

"_A mug with suds, a leather strop,_

_an apron, a towel, a pail and a mop..."_

A student, dressed intelligently with gorgeous, flowing blond hair.

"_For neatness he deserves a nod,"_

The ghosts begin to move around in the shadows, their forms eerie and dancing about the chamber. Their voices were in perfect unison;

"_Inconspicuous Tyki was,_

_quick and quiet and clean he was,_

_back of his smile, under his word,_

_Tyki heard music that nobody heard,_

_Tyki pondered, Tyki planned,_

_like a perfect machine, he planned,_

_Tyki was smooth, Tyki was subtle,_

_Tyki would blink – rats would scuttle!"_

The fires erupted from the furnace, dancing about angrily as the ghosts picked up the pace. Their voices became accusing and cold.

"_Tyki! _

_Tyki!_

_Tyki!"_

Their shadows flickered over the dead man's face, half submerged in his blood. The banker and the gentleman rounded on him, crouching down closer to the body. Their clothes were unaffected by the red liquid as they knelt, each on his knee as if to propose to a bride, in the man's lost blood, still pooling.

Said the banker, "_He served a dark and vengeful god. What happened then-_"

"_Well who's to say?_" Interjected the gentleman, raising a finger matter-of-factly, "_And he wouldn't want us to give it away!_"

The ghosts begin to chant, their voices drowned out at first, then joining once again into unison:

"_Not Tyki!_

_Not Tyki Mikk,_

_The Demon Barber of Fleet Street!_"

The dark waters glimmered and shimmered like glass as a grand ship glided across its surface. From the gloomy deck of this ship, the busy voices of sailors called out in the darkness, breaking the calm atmosphere. From the fog, a figure emerged, planting himself on the railing. His name was Lavi – a young sailor with dark crimson hair, like blood, held up by a black cloth. He peered out through the mist with a brilliant jade eye, squinting and straining to see the silhouette of the approaching city. London.

As the ship approached, the city came into view, and Lavi's breath hitched in his chest. The mountainous rooftops, the towering spires, dreadful and magnificent as it was – Lavi felt his excitement of reaching this London rise to a barely containable pitch as the image crawled out of the fog like a tiger stalking its prey.

Lavi's young eye continued to take in the wonders of this city as the ship gradually inched forward. The gnarl of rooftops and labyrinths that made up its streets and alleys sat below the black smoke rising like grasping fingers from its countless chimneys. Lavi was so awestruck by its spell that he was hardly aware that another, older man had stepped up next to him at the rail, looking out at London in the distance.

"I've been around the world, sailed it, beheld its wonders – from the Dardanelles to the mountains of Peru," Lavi exclaimed, that one green eye flickering with enthusiasm, "But there's no place – not one – like London-"

"Yes, of course, no place. No place like _London_."

Lavi turned his head, surprised to find his friend, Tyki Mikk, grimly interrupting him with his tired drawl.

"Tyki...?"

The older man turned his head as well, looking down at the twenty-year-old with an eerie golden eye.

"You're young, Lavi. Life has been kind to you. But you will learn. Soon enough." Mikk returned his glare forward, his gaze fixed on the city. Lavi stared at him a moment, trying to understand what Tyki meant with that riddle of his.

Once at the docks, Lavi became eager to get off that humdrum old ship. Tyki soon followed, hands buried into his pockets with a stoic expression on his face. On the other hand, Lavi was smiling widely, taking every opportunity to behold another of the marvels belonging to this new world. Simply overwhelmed by the ambiance of it all, Lavi spun and ran over to Tyki, grabbing hold of his arm.

"Breathtaking, isn't it?"

Tyki snorted, walking on ahead of him.

"Tyki?" Lavi followed after the man, who sent glares at the people working around the docks. Filth. Scum. He began to snarl under his breath as his pace quickened, Lavi being forced to jog to keep up with him.

"_There's a hole in the world like a great black pit,_

_and the vermin of the world inhabit it._

_And its morals aren't worth_

_what a pig could spit -_

_and it goes by the name of __**London**__!_"

Lavi's single green eye widens at his words. Tyki suddenly stops, turning around and gazing intently at Lavi.

"_At the top of this hole_

_sit the privileged few_

_who mock the vermin in the lower zoo._

_Turning beauty into filth and greed._

_I too have sailed the world! _

_I have seen its wonders!_

_The cruelty of men is as wondrous as Peru,_

_but there's indeed no place like __**London**__!_"

Lavi tilted his head questioningly as Tyki visibly made an attempt at calming himself. The man closed his eyes, running a hand through his curly dark hair, offset only by a white patch running along where the hair split over his left eye. Accomplishing this demanding task with an ache, he rested his eyes again on his companion.

"Have patience with me, Lavi. These streets..." Lavi followed his gaze toward the solemn twists and turns of the city, "I'm seeing shadows."

"Shadows?" Lavi inquired, scratching absent-mindedly at the strap of the eye patch running across the bridge of his nose. Tyki Mikk strolled a few paces toward the water, gazing down at his reflection on its glassy surface.

"Ghosts." His reflection was joined by that of Lavi, who was giving him a dubious look. Tyki returned only a quick, half-hearted glance before he peered down again. His voice was quiet and pensive as he explained.

"_There was a barber and his wife,_

_and she was beautiful._

_A foolish barber and his wife,_

_she was his reason and his life, _

_and she was beautiful and virtuous,_

_and he was..._"

The speaker shuddered lightly.

"What?"

"Naïve_._"

Lavi watches, rapt, as Tyki is thrust into his memories from fifteen years before.

_Tyki - a younger Tyki – walks with his beautiful wife Lulu, through a crowded flower market. The woman was indeed the fairest sight, with flowing dark hair, soft features, pale skin – crystal blue eyes like that of the summer sky, like a robin's egg. In her tender arms she carried an infant, not a year old, bundled in white silk and soundly resting. Tyki was hardly recognizable – happy, smiling, laughing with his love._

_From beyond the luxurious flowers, an elderly man stalked the happy couple, his eyes full of jealousy, eying the object of his desires. Wanting her. Judge Leverrier, with his sullen demeanor, with his dog of a companion, Howard Link. Link - a tall, blond man with pudding bowl hair and not one, but two moles sitting on his forehead just above his eyes – flanked his master compliantly. _

"**There was another man that saw this -**

**that she was beautiful.**

**A pious vulture of the law,**

**who with a gesture of his claw,**

**removed the barber from his plate.**

**Then there was nothing but to wait,**

**and she would fall,**

**so soft,**

**so young,**

**so lost,**

**and so beautiful!**"

_The Judge whispers to Link, indicating Tyki to him with a firm hand. Link nods and disappears behind the arch leading into the market. Soon, he returns with several policemen, who advance on Tyki, arresting him. Lulu cries out, reaching for Tyki, who reaches back – but to no avail as the police drag him away from her. Leverrier appears, a sinister, lewd, and frightening smile on his face, advancing on his prey Lulu. _

"And the lady... did she submit?"

Tyki grimaced, pulled out of his memories. He shouldered his duffel bag, looking down at Lavi.

"Oh, that was many years ago..." he sighed, "I doubt anyone would know." Lavi frowned, pitying the man.

"I owe you my life, Lavi. If you hadn't spotted me, I would be lost on the ocean still... thank you."

With that, he turned and began to walk away. Lavi watched him go for a moment, saddened by the mysterious cloud that hung over his head. He was almost away from the docks when Lavi ran forward several paces, calling out to him.

"Will I see you again?"

Tyki raised his hand, waving to him, without turning to face the red haired man.

"You can find me again, if you wish, on Fleet Street."

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**I'm trying a new writing style with this fiction, so please tell me what you think. If you like it, don't, or have any comments to make - please review! Thanks.**


	2. Purpose

**Didn't at all intend for this to take so long... I kept coming back to it every week or so. I've been so busy with schoolwork and other things that it's easy to lose track of progress on these things... but I finally found the time to sit down and properly write this thing. So here it is.**

* * *

Tyki strode along the streets of London, eying the people he passed with a hostile and cold eye. Nobody stared back, or even noticed the tension surrounding the man. The emotion roiling within him finally seethed out in a dark mutter.

"_There's a hole in the world, like a great black pit,_

_and it's filled with people who are filled with shit,_

_and the vermin of the world inhabit it…_"

Tyki thundered down the street, cutting through the city; down the twisting alleys, up crowded boulevards and over the bridges, and finally…

He paused in front of a tattered old building crammed between an apartment and tailor shop. Though it was old, dusty, and unloved by all, it had a nostalgic effect on Tyki that he simply could not ignore. His golden eyes trailed up to the second floor, darkened and ghostly looking that it was. The exterior staircase leading into the floor was closed off, and the gate housed cobwebs. Nobody had been in there for years. Tyki sauntered to the first level and entered Mistress Road's Meat Pies.

Inside this building, Tyki was not at all surprised by its interior. It was no different than how it appeared outside. Behind the counter was a short girl with greasy dark hair, chopping up a loathsome mess of meat with a wicked looking knife. At the sound of the bell chiming over the door, her head snapped up, and a pair of bright golden eyes rested on him like a bird of prey.

"A customer!" she suddenly said, startling Tyki. She didn't sound any older than thirteen, but Tyki had no certain estimate, thus her age remained a mystery. What he was sure of, however, was that she was going to make him buy – or worse, eat – one of her rancid-looking pies. He wasn't going to stick around for that. He turned to leave.

"Wait! What's your hurry?" she cried, thrusting the knife into the counter with a dry thud. She brushed her hands on her apron as she ran around the rugged counter to him.

"You gave me such a fright, there. I thought you were a ghost or something! Half a minute, can't you? Sit!" She grabbed him by the arm and led him into one of the tables.  
"Sit down!" she insisted, and Tyki reluctantly did so. Smiling to herself, Road trotted back behind her counter.

"All I meant is that I haven't seen a customer for weeks," she explained, "Did you come here for a pie, sir?" She began flicking some dust off her pies with a dirty old rag. Tyki found the whole idea a little unsettling, but he didn't want to upset her. With less-than subtle unease, he nodded. It was a small gesture.

"Forgive me if my head's a little vague – Ugh!" Apparently, she spotted something undesirable on one of the pies. She plucked it off and examined it.

"What is that? You'd think we had the plague-" she dropped it on the floor and stamped on it with her foot.  
"By the way that people-" She flicked another disturbance off a pie with her finger.  
"Keep avoiding – oh, no you don't!" She spotted it still moving and smacked it with her hand. Tyki raised a brow.  
"Oh, heaven knows I try, sir!" She wiped her hand on the edge of the counter, tsking. Tyki thought she needed help. She desperately needed help. She broke the awkward silence with a rather coarse sigh.

"Would you like a drop of ale?" she asked, and Tyki nodded. It was then which he found that he'd forgotten why he even came in here.  
"Mind you, I can hardly blame them," Road continued as she began to pour a tankard of the substance for her guest, "These are probably the worst pies in London. I know why nobody cares to try them. I should know – I make them. But good? No. The worst pies in London – even that's polite. If you doubt it, go ahead, take a bite."

She slammed a pie down on the table next to where she set the ale. Tyki eyed it warily. She actually expected him to try it. Tyki decided that Road wouldn't give him a choice in the matter. He carefully picked it up, and she watched him, arms propped on her hips as he bit into it.

And promptly spat it back out. It was horrible. He was sure some muck from the sewer could taste better than this. He quickly set it back on the table and downed some ale. But the taste still lingered, and he held his throat as the girl frowned, returning to the counter. She began rolling out some dough.

"Ms. Lotto has a pie shop. She's got business. But I've noticed something rather weird. Lately, all of her neighbors' cats have gone missing. Doesn't that make you sick?" She leaned on the counter, exhausted. She dropped her head into her hand and watched as Tyki bravely attempted another mouthful.

"It's all greasy and gritty, isn't it? Looks like it's molting. And it tastes like… well, pity. Loneliness. The worst pies in London," she sighed, heavily, "Ah, sir. Times are hard. Times are so hard."

Meanwhile, Tyki gulped away at his ale, trying to wash down Road's hideous abomination.

"Trust me, it's going to take much more than ale to wash that taste out. Come with me and we'll get you a nice tumbler of gin."

"You like it? My wallpaper was a bargain; it was only partly singed when the chapel burnt down," Road guided Tyki behind her pie shop, where she began to pour him a glass of gin. Tyki was becoming slightly concerned by her undeterminable age, but he did not press the subject, and accepted the gin. Gulping it down, it washed away the taste of her rancid pie from his mouth. Glancing around the parlor, he took in the curious middle class setting of dingy doilies and knickknacks. There was a postcard hanging on the wall, depicting a seaside on its bedraggled surface.

"Sit down, warm your bones. You look chilled through," Road said, showing him a seedy mauve couch in front of a fire. Tyki sat down.

"Isn't that a room over the shop? If times are so hard, why don't you rent it out?" Tyki asked her. Road glanced up at the ceiling, considering the room over her with a wary expression.

"Up there?" she said slowly, "Oh, no one will go near it. People say it's haunted."

"Haunted?" Tyki inquired. Road held his gaze, something a little intense and probing about the way she eyed him.

"Years ago… something happened up there. Something not very nice," Road explained. The flickering flame from the fire cast a more intense red glow on her face. "Who's to say the people are wrong? Maybe it _is_ haunted."

"…" Tyki scrutinized the flickering fire, drinking again from the glass of gin.

"There was a barber and his wife," Road began, "and he was beautiful."

Her gaze joined his in watching the fire as she retold the tale.

"_A proper artist with a knife, but they transported him for life. And he was so, so beautiful._"

She looks at Tyki, again with that intense gaze.

"Joido, his name was."

"What was his crime?" Tyki asked.

"Foolishness," she answered with a sharp tone, "**He had this wife, you see. Pretty little thing. Had her chance for the moon on a string, poor thing.**"

_Lulu paced, holding her child to her closely. She appeared worried and strained, tears in her eyes. The room was full of dead and dying flowers, with dozens of dried bouquets tossed aside and ultimately ignored. The pretty woman moved to the window, looking out. But as she sees Judge Leverrier and his dog Howard Link waiting below, she flees from the window, curtain falling over it and drowning the room in darkness. Judge Leverrier was holding another bouquet out to her. Lulu sobbed, clinging to her daughter._

"**There was this Judge, you see. He wanted her like mad, and every day he'd send her a flower. But she never left her tower. She sat up there and sobbed by the hour, the poor fool. But there was worse yet to come.**"

_Link lead a nervous Lulu along a classy street of dark stone mansions, grand yet latently sinister. Lulu was wearing her very best dress, and even in all her anxiousness, looked terribly beautiful._

"**The Judge's dog calls on her all polite, poor thing. The Judge, he tells her, is stricken by remorse. 'He blames himself for this dreadful plea! Come straight to his manor tonight!' he tells her. Poor thing!**"

_Link ushered the woman into a ballroom. She's shocked when she finds that there is a fancy masquerade ball in progress. Masked couples twirl and swirl around with mocking bliss, their numbers multiplied by the distorting mirrors lining the ballroom. Lulu wandered among the dancers, lost and confused._

"**Nobody there she knows, poor dear. She wanders, tormented, and drinks. Finally losing herself to the festivities, she believes the Judge has atoned for his wrongs. 'Oh where is Judge Leverrier?' she asks.**"

_Link found Lulu again, graciously giving the drunken woman his arm. He lead her through the party. Lulu, who was thankful for the salvation he provided, is brought to Judge Leverrier. However, the Judge deceives her. She is released from Link's arm, and falling onto the floor, is quickly descended upon by Judge Leverrier. The guests crowd around the terrible scene ravenously, enjoying the spectacle with a sardonic pleasure. A feverish nightmare._

"**He was there, all right, but not at all sorry! She was no match for such craft, you see, and everyone thought it whimsical. They figured she had to be stupid, so all of them stood there and laughed as he raped her. Poor soul-**"

"NO!"

Tyki bolted from the couch, tormented and sickened. He stood there, breathing fast, staring desperately at Road.

"Would no one have mercy on her?"

"So it is you – you're Joido."

"Where is Lulubell?! Where is my wife?!"

Road eyed him, a blank expression on her face. Her voice was hollow, matching her expression.

"Poisoned herself. She took some arsenic from the apothecary on the corner. And he… he has your daughter."

"He? Judge Leverrier?"

Road nodded. "Adopted her like his own."

Tyki slumped against the bricks of the fireplace, absorbing the news.

"Fifteen years… sweating in a living hell on a false charge. Fifteen years – dreaming that I might come home to find a loving wife and child…" He stared down at the fire, madness and purpose creeping into his scarred conscience.

"Well, I can't say the years have been particularly kind to you, Mr. Mikk, but you still-"

"Judge Leverrier will pay for what he has done," Tyki said with a chilling and quiet resolve, staring with unblinking eyes into the fire. He finally turned to her.

"But first, I must have my shop back."


	3. Rubies

**Sorry if it's confusing, that's just Tyki being crazy. o.o** **As previously stated, I'm attempting a different writing style in this fic and I would appreciate the feedback! Also I would like to apologize for my slowness in uploading the chapters. It's just life catching up with me, is all. But the good news is that part 4 is already written and should not take long to have up! 8D**

* * *

The door of the second story flat creaked open like a living thing. It moaned as if in agony, as if to warn whomever was opening it of the room beyond its seedy barrier.

"I'd say a touch of oil will put this right," Road said, probably to herself, as she stepped inside. The little copper bell overhead chimed weakly as if it hadn't spoken in ages. She looked back at her guest Tyki, who stood in the door frame, eyes darting about the room. She smiled, beckoning him. "Nothing to be afraid of, Mr. Mikk, come in."

The flat was a shroud of dust and spiders' webs. The furniture was covered in sheets. Even the great fenestra which dominated the room was shrouded in dreck, and only the lights glinting brightly in the streets below shone through. For Road, it was nothing more than an attic. Tyki peered down the length of the room, eyes resting on his own shattered reflection in a broken mirror. For him, it was a truly haunted place.

Meanwhile, Road occupied herself with prying loose one of the creaky floorboards. A smile appeared on her face. She glanced up at Tyki, calling his attention. She then withdrew from the alcove a rectangular object wrapped in a fine velvet cloth. Her touch was particularly gentle and respectful as she gingerly unwrapped it. Dusting it off, she turned to face Tyki again, showing him a fine leather case.

Tyki, who at this point realized what it was inside the case, dropped onto the floor next to her. He reached for the case, prying in from Road's grasp.

"When I moved in down there, I kept them. Hid them in the floor, see. I thought, who knows? Maybe the silly blighter will be back again. Cracked in the head, wasn't I?"

Tyki however, didn't appear to be listening as he opened the case. It contained a beautiful set of razors. Tyki remained for a long moment, gazing fondly at his beloved razors…

"The handles are chased silver, aren't they?" Road asked, also admiring the blades. Tyki picked a small razor from the case, examining it.

"Silver, yes…" he said, almost offhandedly. His eyes adopted a sudden and almost maddening glee as he held the sharp object. In fact, he began to speak to it.

"**These are my friends, see how they glisten?**" Tyki picked another blade from the set, flipping it open. The sharp end ignited a certain longing within Tyki. "**See this one shine, how he smiles in the light. My faithful friend.**"

He held the blade to his ear, stroking the sharp edge with his thumb.

"**Speak to me friend. Whisper, I'll listen. I know, I know - you've been locked out of sight all these years - like me, my friend. Well, I've come home, to find you waiting. And we're together. And we'll do wonders. **_**Won't we?**_"

Putting these two away, Tyki chose a much larger razor. He eyed it fondly as a proud father would his son. In his dubious stupor, he was unable to notice Road considering him dolefully.

"_I'm your friend too, Mr. Mikk. If only you knew, Mr. Mikk. Always had a fondness for you, I did._"

"**My lucky friends. Till now your shine was merely silver,**"

"_Never you fear, Mr. Mikk. You can move in here, Mr. Mikk. I'm your friend…_"

"**Friends, you shall drip rubies. Precious, precious rubies.**"

"Silver's good enough for me, Mr. Mikk…" Road said quietly, now leaning gently over Tyki's shoulder. Tyki paid her no glances, eyes still locked tenderly on his friends.

"Leave me now…"

She went quietly, the only sounds made by the creaky floorboards. Tyki didn't move until the door groaned shut. Silence took hold of the room. Tyki, a fiery light in his eyes, slowly stood up. The blade felt right. It felt warm in his hand.

"At last my arm is complete again."

And he remained standing. Exalted.

Then-

In the shattered mirror on the wall he suddenly saw the distorted reflections of dainty men, ghosts of tortured souls bloodied at the throat and gruesome to look at…

"**Lift your razor high!**"

"**Hear it singing, Yes!**"

"**Sink it in the rosy skin of righteousness!**"

The voices were nameless and void of emotion, like the men clawing at the mirror. Blood began to seep from the cracks. Tyki watched it, unable to move. The voices became louder still, nails raking violently against the barrier, daring it to shatter.

"**His voice was soft, his manner mild.**"

"**He seldom laughed but often smiled.**"

The voices were mocking him. Beyond his will, Tyki began to inch forward. He found himself standing before the mirror, next to the cradle covered by a dusty cloth.

"**Never forget!!**"

"**Never forgive!!**"

Tyki's free hand clutched a handful of the cloth. It felt hot, burning his hand. He wanted to let go before the pain became worse, but it was too late. His arm shook with hesitation. This was…

**REVENGEREVENGEREVENGEREVENGEREVENGEREVENGE**

The piece was torn away only to stir up a cloud of dust. Tyki coughed, guarding his eyes from the accumulated filth. When it cleared, he cracked open an eye. The cradle was empty. A mere doll, withered and aged, lied alone in its wake. Tyki let the cloth drop from his grasp, looking back at the mirror. It was empty except for his own reflection, holding the razor to his own neck. The other Tyki broke into a twisted grin, dragging the razor through his flesh. Rubies poured freely down his chest.

**THEY WILL PAY FOR WHAT THEY'VE DONE TO YOU**

Tyki clutched the razor tightly in his hand. He shut his eyes, one word repeating meaningfully in his mind.

"_Leverrier._"


	4. Cage

Lavi studied his map as he walked along a sidewalk near the Judge's mansion. It was a chilly Thursday morning, his breath emerging into the air as white clouds. He was dressed in an inelegant drab of a sweater, which wasn't very different compared to his pepper-coloured trousers or his dull and fingerless gloves. The only thing about his appearance today that didn't at all match the sky above was of course his unchanging red hair and jade eye. The coal headband that he always wore on the ocean was stuffed unceremoniously into a side-pocket on the frazzled knapsack slung around his shoulder.

The young sailor stopped on the corner for a moment, slightly frustrated. He scrutinized his map further, trying to get his bearings. He was a sailor, he thought, he should be able to know his way around. Lavi didn't exactly want to admit to himself that he was lost, but he knew he was. He looked up from his map, however, when an unusual sound emerged from the normal sophisticated bustle of the street. Lavi listened, trying to pinpoint the source. He recognized the sound. It was the sound of a woman humming. His jade eye trailed up the side of the Judge's mansion, then lingered on the window.

Inside, sitting by the window, was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and heard. It was a sixteen year old girl with gorgeous dark hair, a round face, and hauntingly sad eyes. Those solemn eyes were fixed on something in her lap. Lavi found himself allured by her voice.

Up above, Lenalee glanced out her window, seeing a bird seller passing in the street. He carried a long, wooden pole with little bird cages attached. She returned to her needlepoint, continuing her singing.

"_Green finch and linnet bird,_

_nightingale, blackbird,_

_how is it you sing?_

_How can you jubilate, _

_sitting in cages,_

_never taking wing?_

_Outside the sky waits,_

_beckoning, _

_just beyond the bars._

_How can you remain,_

_staring at the rain,_

_maddened by the stars?_

_How is it you sing_

_anything?_"

Her eyes tore from her work, and she gazed out the window again. This time she saw Lavi. There was a long look between them. Her intense, melancholy expression moved Lavi. And then she continued to sing, but this time, there was a strange anguish and yearning in her words that seemed to be intended only for him.

"_My cage has many rooms,_

_comely and dark._

_Nothing there sings_

_not even my lark._

_Larks never will, you know,_

_when they're captive._

_Teach me to be more adaptive._

_Green finch and linnet bird,_

_nightingale, blackbird,_

_teach me how to sing._

_If I cannot fly,_

_let me sing._"

Suddenly she turned away from the window, alarmed, as somebody entered her room. She looked terrified. Down below on the street, Lavi became concerned for her. He saw her move away from the window. The sailor craned his head a little, backing up into the gate behind him, trying to see into the window. But he couldn't see a thing; the curtain had fallen over it and the beautiful girl had gone from sight.

"Alms! Alms! For a miserable woman on a miserable chilly morning?" cried an old beggar woman, thrusting her arm up from the curb. She was a filthy tendril of a woman, her foul clothes of rags like a second skin. Lavi dropped a coin into her imploring hand. She took it with gratitude.

"Thank you sir, thank you!"

Just as she began to leave, Lavi stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Ma'am," he asked her, "Could you tell me whose house this is?"

"That's the great Judge Leverrier's house, that is," she answered, her voice mousy and nervous.

"And… the young lady who resides there? Does she, perhaps, have a name?"

The beggar woman seemed to pause for a moment, perhaps deciding whether to answer his question. She glanced up at the dismal window.

"Her? That's Lenalee, his pretty little ward. Keeps her snug, he does, all locked up," she said cryptically, "Don't you go trespassing there or it's a good whipping for you - or any other young man with… mischief on his mind…"

Her eyes trailed down for a moment, scrutinizing Lavi's crotch.

"It looks to me, dear, like you've got plenty there to push," she said quickly. She then turned away, instantly plaintive again, and returned to appealing to other pedestrians with her pathetic cadging.

Ignoring the beggar woman, Lavi considered the mansion. He saw a figure standing at another window, watching him. Lavi tried to see past the gloom of this window, but there was no way to see beyond the shutters. The obscure figure disappeared. Lavi sighed, walking over to a bench and slumping into it.

He thought about that girl he'd seen - Lenalee - locked up in her solemn cage. She was the Judge's bird, singing because there was nothing else to be done. It made Lavi woeful thinking about it. Here he was, a sailor; he was as free as they came, having been around the world. He'd seen it all. Yet Lenalee hadn't seen anything past her sinister prison. If Lavi were locked up like that, surely he would be driven mad.

The doors of the mansion swung open. Lavi's head turned, and he stood up, expecting Lenalee. But it was not her at all. It was Judge Leverrier himself who stepped into the doorway. Lavi swallowed, feeling slightly fearful. Was this not the same Judge which Tyki had told him about? But he seemed different. He didn't seem menacing or lustful at all. In fact, the Judge seemed almost paternal and warm. Lavi didn't know what to think. The man beckoned to Lavi. The sailor hesitated, unsure what to do. Run or go inside? If he ran, of course, he didn't know what would happen. He could be captured by the Judge if the Judge willed it. Then again, Lenalee was somewhere in there. He would be closer to her. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. Lavi had been through much worse than this.

The Judge beckoned to him again, again with that smile.

"Come in, lad. Come in…"

Lavi went into the mansion.

---

The Judge lead Lavi into the dark library, lit by an extravagant chandelier. The room was a royal shade of crimson, and the plush furniture was very tasteful. Lavi peered around, looking for Lenalee. At the same time, he began to have second thoughts about this. Perhaps it wasn't a great idea at all to follow Judge Leverrier into his lair. It was all very strange.

"… you were looking for Hyde Park, you say?" the Judge asked, stepping behind a table. Lavi followed him, though keeping his distance by ensuring the table stood between them. His left hand held tight to his knapsack.

"Yes, it's terribly large on the map. But I just keep getting lost," Lavi admitted. The Judge smiled.

"Sit down, lad. Sit down."

Lavi obeyed, sitting in the armchair before the table. He was uncomfortable, however, and watched the Judge's moves carefully. The Judge picked up the alcohol sitting on the table and poured two snifters of brandy.

"It's embarrassing for a sailor to lose his bearings, but, well, there you are."

The form of Howard Link appeared in the shadows from the hallway. No introduction was made. Lavi glanced at him uneasily.

"A sailor, eh?" the Judge asked, handing Lavi the brandy. Lavi accepted it, but didn't drink.

"Yes, sir. The "Innocence" out of Madras."

"A sailor must know the ways of the world, yes?" the Judge asked, also not drinking, "Must be _practiced_ in the ways of the world. Would you say you are practiced, boy?"

"Sir?" Lavi said, warily. He watched as the Judge moved to consider some beautifully kept volumes on the shelves, bound in the richest leather. He ran a finger along the spines of the books. Lavi noticed the collection was all pornography.

"Oh, yes. Such practices… the geishas of Japan… the concubines of Siam… the catamites of Greece… and I'm sure you know well the harlots of India. That is where you hail from, is it not? I have them all here, drawings of them," he turned again to Lavi. "All the vile things you have done with your whores."

Lavi was left speechless. The Judge only smiled at him amiably.

"Would you like to see?" Lavi stood, shaken.

"I think there's been some mistake-"

"Oh, I think not," Leverrier insisted, his voice eerily transformed, no longer warm, but sinister, "You gandered at my ward, Lenalee. You ogled at her. Yes, sir, you **stared**."

Link moved behind Lavi. The sailor glanced nervously back at him.

"I meant no harm-"

"Your meaning is immaterial. Mark me; if I see your face again on this street, you will _rue_ the day your bitch mother gave you birth."

Lavi was stunned, unable to speak. The Judge proceeded with shocking venom.

"My Lenalee is not one of your bloody cock-chafers! My Lenalee is **not to be gandered at**,_** do you understand me, boy**_?"

He nodded to his dog, Link. The man instantly grabbed Lavi by the collar of his shirt and brutally hauled him out. He was dragged through the rear door of the mansion and flung out into a drecky back alley. Lavi pulled himself up, stunned.

"Hyde Park is that way, young sir. A right and then a left, then straight on, you see?" the heavily accented man pointed down the alley, "…over there."

Flustered, Lavi turned to look. The instant his back was turned, Link swung his lethal boot and slammed him from behind brutally in the kidneys. Lavi's knees buckled. Link then hit him in the back of his neck, sending Lavi face first into the cobbled ground. Link rolled him over with his dainty foot. The sailor glared up at him, winded, his nose broken and bleeding.

"You heard the Judge, little man," Howard warned him, "Next time it'll be your pretty brains all over the pavement."

With that, Link returned to the mansion and slammed the door shut behind him. Slowly, Lavi pulled himself to his knees, wiping the blood from his face. He was doubled over, trying to catch his breath.

Damn that Judge Leverrier! Tyki was right, the man was no good. Lavi punched the ground in frustration. Poor, poor Lenalee! Trapped by that bastard of a man. He pulled himself up, wincing. Each of his movements was agony. He knew what he had to do. He wouldn't be able to sleep knowing Lenalee was living with him. He made his way out of the alley, leaning on the the wall for support.

He emerged from the dark tunnel onto the exclusive street. Nobody seemed to pay him any mind, even though he was limping and bleeding and positively bedraggled. He stopped at a park across the street from the mansion.

"One day I'll steal you, Lenalee," he said, determined, bravely gazing up at Lenalee's window.


	5. Plot

**Sorry for the time it took to upload. Financial problems, you know. Living in California is particularly difficult these days. **

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"He's here every Thursday?"

"Like clockwork. Eyetalian. All the rage, he is."

Tyki smirked. "Not for long."

The duo rounded a corner and entered a bustling marketplace. Tyki and Road were moving quickly, Road struggling to keep up with Tyki's long, loping strides. She carried a shopping basket. He carried his razor case. The sounds of steady mercantile and chitter chatter filled the air. They approached a tasteful hand-drawn caravan which dominated one corner of the marketplace, reading "Signor Marian Cross - Haircutter to His Royal Majesty the King of Naples."

"Really think you can do it?" Road asked, knowing the answer already. Tyki scowled, paying her no glances.

"By tomorrow, they'll all be flocking to me like sheep to be shorn-" Tyki stopped abruptly when he saw a particularly outstanding figure from within the bustle of shoppers. It was Howard Link. Tyki stood terribly still, eyes transfixed on his ancient enemy. _He's so close_.

Road followed his gaze, finding the object of his attention. Wishing to avoid a nasty confrontation, she smartly pulled his arm and towed him away, closer to the cart. But Tyki's glare remained thick upon his opponent.

"I will do what I have vowed to do… come closer, my friend, _closer_…"

Then a figure emerged from the caravan, drawing the attention of the citizens all around. He was a rather small boy, malnourished and noticeably pale, wearing a scrappy little cap over his brown hair. He pulled out a tin drum and banged loudly on it, drawing more customers to the caravan.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" the boy shouted in his thick British accent. "May I have your attention, please?"

He threw the drum aside. "Do you wake every morning in shame and despair, to discover your pillow is covered with hair? Well, ladies and gentlemen, from now on you can waken at ease! You need never again have a worry or care - I will show you a miracle marvelous rare. Gentlemen, you are about to see something wot rose from the dead!"

A woman in the crowd gasped, but the boy smiled and waggled a finger to her. "On the top of my head."

He dramatically doffed his cap, revealing mountains of chocolate-coloured hair which cascaded to his shoulders. People in the crowd gasped, some muttered, some laughed, and some exchanged unsure glances. The boy began to sing.

"_'Twas Marian's Miracle Elixer,_

_That's wot did the trick, sir._

_True, sir, true._

_Was it quick, sir?_

_Did it in a tick, sir!_

_Just like an elixir ought to do!_"

He pulled a bottle from one of the crates, walking to the edge of the little stage, where stood a bald man. He uncapped the bottle, pouring a drop on the man's head.

"_How about a bottle, mister?_

_Only cost a penny, guaranteed. _

_Does Marian's stimulate the growth, sir?_

_You can have my oath sir, it's unique._

_Rub a minute - stimulatin', i'n it?_

_Soon you'll have to thin it once a week!_"

Customers began to step up and purchase the product. Tyki opened up a bottle of the Elixir. He took a whiff of it. _Disgusting_. Yet he smiled to Road. This was in fact a good thing, his plan was falling into place.

"Pardon me, ma'am, what's that awful stench?" Tyki asked Road, loudly.

"Are we standing near an open trench?" Road replied, wrinkling her nose. Tyki turned to a random woman standing nearby.

"Must be standing near an open trench!"

The crowd responded to Tyki and Road, looking askance and sniffing at the bottles. The boy on the stage appeared to be nervous, and continued much more loudly, trying to distract the customers from Tyki's interference.

"_Buy Marian's Miracle Elixir: anything wot's slick, sir, soon sprouts curls._

_Try Marian's! _

_When they see how thick, sir, you can have your pick, sir,_

_of the girls!_

_Want to buy a bottle, missus?_"

"What is this?" Road asked, more loudly so, handing a bottle to Tyki. He made a show of smelling it.

"Smells like piss."

"Smells like -" Road shoved the bottle away, "-_phew_!"

"This is piss. Piss with ink," Tyki declared with certainty. The boy on the stage spoke much faster, getting desperate.

"_Let Marian's activate your roots, sir-_"

"Keep it off your boots, sir, it eats right though," Tyki told a man nearby.

"_YES! Get Marian's!! Use a bottle of it! Ladies seem to love it-!_"

"Flies do, too!" Road added.

Suddenly the curtains of the caravan flew open wide to reveal a tall man in a velvet suit, with long red hair and a dazzling face. Several women in the crowd stood still. The boy on the stage let out what sounded like a mousy '_yeep!_' and leapt down. The man appeared to be slightly drunk, eyes squinted and searching the crowd.

"I am Marian Cross!" the man announced, voice strong and very much Italian, "Da barber of da barbers, da barber of kings. _E buon giorno_, good day, I blow you a kiss!" He did so. A woman in the crowd fainted. "And I, da so-famous Marian, I wish-a to know-a who has-a da nerve-a to say my Elixir is _piss_! Who says dis?!"

He searched for a moment before Tyki boldly stepped forward.

"I do."

Cross's eyes snapped to the other man emerging from the quickly parting crowd around him. "I am Mr. Tyki Mikk of Fleet Street. I have opened a bottle of Marian's elixir, and I say to you that it is nothing more than an arrant fraud, concocted from piss and ink."

Cross was about to respond, outraged, but Tyki continued.

"And furthermore - "signor" - I have serviced no kings, yet I wager I can shave a cheek with ten times more dexterity than any street mountebank." He snapped open his razor case and held it up for the crowd to see, turning to display the wondrous razors.

"You see these razors?"

"Finest in England," Road commented knowingly.

"I lay them against five pounds you are no match for me. You hear me, sir? Either accept my challenge or reveal yourself as a sham."

The crowd whispered eagerly, becoming very much interested in the challenge. Others began to make bets of their own. Amongst the crowd was the ghost of a tourist, watching with an uneven, bloodied gaze…

Cross studied the razors for a moment and then turned to the crowd with a confident smile.

"You hear dis foolish man? Watch, and see how he will regret his folly! _Bambino_!" the mousy-looking boy scrambled back onto the caravan's stage. Tyki moved into action, preparing the challenge.

"Friends, who's for a free shave?" Two men stepped forward. The boy brought Tyki a plain wooden chair as he moved into the most paramount part of his plan. He carefully turned to an enemy in the crowd.

"Will Howard Link be the judge?"

Road's eyes shot to Tyki, alarmed, as Link moved toward him. Tyki smiled amiably, but quivered internally by being so painfully close to his prey. **KILLHIM. JUST DO IT NOW. RUNRUNRUN TO THE JUDGE. KILLHIMTOO. IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT HAPPENS TO YOU.** Road watched him, concerned, as Tyki fiddled with the razors in his case. Will Link recognize the features of this man from fifteen years ago?

Apparently not.

Link stopped right before Tyki and smiled. The smile was so sincere it made Tyki sick.

"Glad, as always, to oblige my friends and neighbors," he said, nodding to Tyki. Tyki was considering the chance he might vomit. One man sat in Tyki's plain chair as the other moved to an elaborate seat on Cross's caravan. Cross shook out a fancy cloth with a flourish and covered him. The boy prepared his master's ornate shaving supplies while Tyki tucked a plain white towel around his man's neck.

"Ready?" the blond asked.

"Ready," both answered. Link smiled.

"The fastest, smoothest shave is the winner." He blew a shrill whistle.

Cross stropped his razor quickly, Tyki in a leisurely manner. Cross constantly glanced at Tyki in various paranoid ways throughout, frightened by Tyki's slow progress. He began to whip up his lather furiously.

"Now _signorini_, _signori_, we mix-a da lather. But first-a you gather around. _Signorini_, _signori_, you looking a man who had-a da glory to shave-a da Pope. Mr. Mikk-whoever, oh I beg-a you pardon. You'll call me a lie, was-a only a cardinal - Nope! It was the Pope!"

Unexpectedly, Tyki still showed no signs of starting to shave his man. He merely watched Cross's performance. Road looked at him nervously, wishing he would get on with it. Cross, feeling he would take his time, relaxed and began to shave his man with rhythmic scrapes. He sung to himself as he did so.

Tyki however, began to strop his razor slowly and deliberately. _Shoop_. _Shoop_. _Shoop_. Unconcerned by his opponent, he continued this procedure, flustering Cross immensely. Cross merely pretended to be just as unconcerned, carefully shaving the man's jaw. It was then that Tyki, with a few deft strokes, quickly lathered his man's face, shaved him and signaled for Link to examine him.

"The winner is Mikk!" Link announced. Cross deflated. Road ran up to the stage, feeling the man's cheek.

"Smooth as a baby's arse - well done, Mr. Mikk!" The crowd laughed and applauded Tyki as bets were being paid. Cross approached Tyki with a forced bow.

"Sir, I bow to a skill far greater than my own."

Tyki didn't even look at him. He held out his hand.

"The five pounds." Cross produced a distinctive chatelaine purse and removed a five pound note, giving it to Tyki.

"Here, sir. And may the good Lord smile on you," Cross said, voice very nearly sarcastic, "Until we meet again." He bowed his head quickly and turned away, beckoning to his apprentice.

"Come, Allen."

"Sir?" They boy, Allen, asked sheepishly.

Without warning, Cross slapped him viciously across the face. Allen almost fell. Snarling, Cross grabbed the boy by his hair and threw him into the back of the caravan, yelling at him in angry Italian. Road observed the whole scene as she moved away with Tyki, who was making his way inexorably toward Howard Link. Some eager customers surrounded Tyki. Among them was a dark, obscure figure whom nobody saw. The ghost disappeared as the customers flocked.

"Mr. Mikk, sir, do you have an establishment of your own?" A man asked. Road was on him like a hawk.

"He certainly does," she said, loudly, "Tyki Mikk's Tonsorial Parlor - above my meatpie emporium on Fleet Street!" Tyki pushed his way out of the crowd of customers, right to Howard Link. A sardonic smile appeared on his lips as he addressed the man.

"I thank you for your honest judgement, sir. You are truly a paragon of integrity."

"Well, I try to do my best for the benefit of my friends… Your establishment is on Fleet Street, you say?" Tyki's smile became sinister, but to Link, it must have been a smile akin to being honored by the idea the he had gained Howard Link's custom.

"Yes, sir." He said slowly.

"Then, Mr. Mikk, you will surely see me there before the week is out."

"You will be welcome, Howard Link, and I guarantee to give you, without a penny's charge, the _closest_ shave you will ever know."

**HE'S MINE. **

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Tyki and Road were walking away from the marketplace. She was chattering happily as she held Tyki's arm.

"… like to give me a coronary right there! What if he had recognized you! Lord, my heart was beating a mile a minute, just like a little finch. Aren't those lovely birds now? Always so twittery and happy…"

She continued her prattling, but Tyki was not listening. His eyes darted from side to side, feeling a presence.

"**Pondered and planned, like a perfect machine 'e planned…**" The ghosts followed him.

"**Barbing the hook, baiting the trap. Setting it out for Link to snap…**" Tyki suddenly turned to face the person whispering in his ear. But nobody was there. The shadows were quickly swallowed up by the crowds of pedestrians. Road gave him a look.

"Everything alright, there?" Tyki nodded slowly. ("Of course.") She began to talk incessantly again. But again his eyes darted about, looking for the specters. He only saw strangers.


	6. Fury

**I will finish this someday! *DETERMINATION!* I hope the long hiatus hasn't put anyone off.**

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The girl sat, framed by the window, quietly cutting out aimless Victorian handicrafts. Her gentle hands turned the fabric as she cut, passing over the dark spots made by her tears. She finishes, setting the blades down and extending the craft. She felt no accomplishment. She folded it again, using it to dab at her wet eyes.

She stole a glance out from between the shutters at her window, lowering the fabric. Below in the street stood the man from yesterday, with the fiery hair and eye patch, keeping with his lonely vigil. She watches him for a moment, and making her decision, sets the handicraft on the window frame. She moves to the table and opens a drawer, reaching in and removing a little trinket.

* * *

It was problematic that he had to pass this estate en route to the docks every day. Lavi scratched at his head, glancing nervously toward the doors, the shrouded windows; his jade eye trailed upward to the lone window upstairs. Lenalee's window was closed today, her shutters preventing him from seeing if anybody were on the other side. His features adopted a grimace, peeling from the window as he continued on his way.

Just as he might lose sight of the Judge's estate, he heard the clinking sound of metal on pavement. He turned on his heel, peering down at the stone. It was a key, decorated with a pastel pink ribbon. He plucked it from the ground gingerly, chancing a look to the window. He saw nobody. He knew it was her, however. Lavi blew a kiss her direction, tucked the key safely into his pocket, and jogged away.

* * *

Tyki, intense and brooding, stared out the window at the light rain. He was seething with discontent as he cleaned his largest razor with a white cloth. Road chattered as she moved about behind him.

"… It's not much of a chair, I'll grant, but it'll serve. Was poor old Boric's chair. Sat in it all day long, after his leg gave out from the gout, poor bastard." She had made a point to clean the room, though it was still bare and ugly. The only thing that truly made it a shop was the tatty parlor chair sitting in the midst of it; besides the chair there was a large chest and broken mirror sitting in the corner, and a single counter where sat his tonsorial supplies and gleaming razors.

Tyki moves from the window and paced like a caged tiger in the small barber shop.

"Why hasn't he come? 'Before the week is out,' that's what he said," he growled.

"And who says the week is out? It's only Tuesday," Road pointed out. Tyki ignored her and moved away. Road pursued, placing a hand on his arm in attempt to comfort him.

"Easy now, love. Don't distress yourself, what's your rush? Wait." she chided him gently. Tyki moved away again. Road frowned, then moved to the window, running a finger along the sill. The dust stuck to her fingertips.

"I've been thinking, Mr. Mikk- flowers. Perhaps daisies, to brighten up the room. What do you think, love, would that help lift the mood in here?" Tyki sourly tossed himself into the chair, looking at his razor intensely.

"I wonder when we'll get the Judge?" He muttered, to his blade, it seemed. Road had enough of his bitterness. Her hands clasped onto her hips, marching up to him.

"Goodness, can you think of nothing else? Always brooding away on your wrongs- what happened heaven knows how many years ago," she said, "Besides, half the fun is to plan? All good things come to those who can wait."

Her gentle words calmed him considerably. He tilted the razor in his hand. Suddenly, the face of a specter appeared, reflected in the metal. Tyki squinted his eyes, attempting to get it to appear again, tilting it back and forth.

A bell rang from outside the shop. The effect was electric; Tyki bolted out of the chair, senses alert. Road spun to the door. He brandished his razor open, moving strategically toward the door as footsteps ascending the stairs quickly.

Lavi entered the shop, breathless.

"Mr. Mikk! Thank God I've found you!" Lavi gasped. Tyki turned, closing the razor as Lavi noticed the young woman in the room. "Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am, excuse me…'

"Mrs. Kamelot, sir."

"A pleasure," Lavi said hastily, "Listen, Tyki, there's a girl that needs my help. She's so sad, and lonely, and beautiful too and-"

"Slow down boy," Tyki grumbled.

"Yes, I'm sorry…" Lavi took a breath. "This girl has a guardian so tyrannical that he keeps her locked away. But then this morning, she dropped this," He produced the key, "I take it as a sign that Lenalee wants me to help her- that's her name, Lenalee- and Leverrier, her guardian… a judge of some sort…"

Tyki and Road exchanged a quick glance as Lavi continued.

"I've met him, Mr. Mikk… he is… unnatural. Once he goes to court, I'm going to slip into the house and free her. I'm going to beg her to come away with me, tonight."

"This is so terribly romantic," Road swooned.

"Yes but… but you see, I don't know anyone in London. I need somewhere safe to bring her till I've hired a coach to take us to Plymouth," he turns his eye on Tyki, pleading, "If I could keep her here, just for an hour or two, I would be forever in your debt."

Tyki stared at him, his mind racing to figure out how this new twist might aid in his plans. However, it was Road that replied, smoothly.

"Bring her here, dear."

"Thank you, ma'am. Mr. Mikk…?"

A long respite endured before Tyki responded, "… the girl may come."

"Thank you, my friend." He goes.

They stood in silence a moment, both heavy with thoughts on the forefront of their consciences. Finally, Road spoke up.

"Seems like the fates are favoring you at last, Tyki."

He grunts, unhappy.

"What is it, love? You'll have her back before the day is out."

"For a few hours?" Tyki retorted bitterly, "Before he carries her off to the other end of England?"

"Oh, him? Let him bring her here. And then, since you're so hot for a little…" she ran her finger across her neck, "… that's the throat to slit, dear."

Tyki moved again to his post at the window. He stared out again, deep in thought. Road moved about happily, straightening things up in attempt to make the shop cozier. She prattled on about that poor girl Lenalee.

"What's this?" Tyki said suddenly, alert. Road joined him at the window. Below, they saw Cross approaching with Allen in tow. Road made a face.

"Look at him, he's up to no good."

"Go. Keep the boy below. With you." She nodded and scurried out.

Road quickly moved down the steps outside the barber shop to greet Cross and Allen as they were about to ascend.

"Signora, is Mr. Mikk at home?" Cross spat.

"Playing his trade upstairs," she said pleasantly, making a show of blocking their way upstairs. She looked at Allen. "Would you look at it now! Don't look like it's had a kind word since half past never!"

"Pardon…?" Allen responded nervously to her.

"You wouldn't mind if I treated him to a nice juicy meat pie, would you?"

"Yes, yes, whatever you like." Cross replied impatiently. Road moved, allowing him to climb the stairs. She took Allen by the hand before he could follow, leading him into the pie shop.

"I hope your teeth are strong!"

* * *

"Mr. Mikk," Cross addressed the man.

"Mr. Cross," Tyki returned stonily.

"No, no, call me Marian- it isn't professional, right now," Cross insisted, dropping the fake Italian accent for his natural Irish, "I'd like me five quid back, if'n ya don't mind."

"Why?" Tyki asked him, flatly.

"Because, you entered into our little wager on false pretenses, me friend. And so you might remember to be more forthright in the future, you'll be handing over half your profits to me, share and share alike."

Tyki smirked, on the verge of laughing, shaking his head in amusement. He began to turn away when Cross said:

"Or would you rather I let the Judge know you've returned before the curtains have closed on your exile?"

He froze. His heart raced, his mind burned.

"So, do we have a deal, or should I run down the street for me pal Howard Link? What do you say to that now, Mr. Joido-"

Without a word of warning, like a thunderbolt, Tyki was upon him. He leapt across the shop and gathered Cross's shirt by the neck, violently strangling him. Cross puts up a desperate struggle. The men thumped awkwardly around the shop, crashing into the walls in their skirmish.

* * *

"Tuck in," Road handed Allen one of her grisly pies. He devoured it eagerly, much to Road's surprise. However, her attention was almost entirely on the roof above- the muffled voices, the sound of shoes moving about. He eyes kept darting up as she chattered distractedly with Allen.

"I like to see a man with a healthy appetite. Reminds me of my dear Boric, liked to gorge himself to bloatation. He didn't have your nice full head, though-"

"To tell you the truth," Allen interrupted, pulling the wig off that covered his own stark white hair, "It gets awful hot."

Suddenly, the muffled sound of the struggle above penetrated into the pie shop below. She nervously shifted and clanged some things around, trying to cover the sound.

"My, my, my, always work to be done. Spic-and-span, that's my motto. Cleanliness is next to whatever-it-is. So, ah, how did you end up with the Italian fellow?"

"Got me off the streets, he did. Been there since I was born. Got no mum, got nobody. A wasted soul that's what I am-" he suddenly stopped eating the pie, "-Oh, no! He's got an appointment with his tailor. If he's late, he'll blame me!"

"Wait-!" Road cried after him. But he was gone.

* * *

"Signor, you've got an appointment…" Allen announced as he burst through the parlor door, only to find that Cross was nowhere to be found. He glances over at Tyki with a questioning look.

"Signor Cross has been called away. You best run after him."

"Oh no, sir. I better wait for him here or it'll be a lashing. He's a great one for lashings…" He moved away from Tyki and sat upon the large chest in the corner. He didn't seem to notice the bloodied hand protruding from the inside, dangling limply. However, Tyki did, and he smiled nervously.

"So, Mrs. Kamelot gave you a pie, did she?" he started to make small talk. Anything to keep Allen from noticing…

"She's a real lady!" Allen concured.

Cross's hand twitched. Allen didn't notice. Tyki eyed it anxiously.

"That she is… that she is… And I'm sure there's still room for more pie, eh?" he continued dismissively.

"I'd say, sir- an aching void." He patted his stomach.

Cross's hand bagan to twitch desperately, perilously close to where Allen's rested. Tyki felt a bead of sweat trail down his face.

"Then why don't you run downstairs and wait for your master there? There'll be another pie in it for you, I'm sure."

His hand was inching ever so close to Allen's.

"No, I should stay here."

"I know," Tyki said, with sudden inspiration, "Why don't you tell Mrs. Kamelot I said to give you a nice big tot of gin?"

Allen leapt up excitedly.

"Gin, sir? Thank you kindly sir!" He raced out happily and clattered down the stairs. Tyki takes a moment to catch his breath. He then goes to the trunk, leaning down to open it. When he stands again, he feels a presence behind him, and turns. He sees a man, faceless, his neck spilling forth blood like a horrifying fountain. The ghost's eyes glide slowly to the counter. Tyki follows his gaze to his largest razor…

There was a long pause as Tyki considered the blade. **The point of no return…**

He strode to the razor, snapping it open with a sharp quick flick of the wrist. He returns to the chest, and with great ferocity he hauls Cross up by the man's crimson locks. His eyes snap open as Tyki slashes his throat. The ghost whispered into deaf ears as Cross's blood pooled into the trunk.

"**His hands were quick, his fingers strong.**

**It stung a little, but not for long.**"

The ghost disappears. Tyki stood alone over Cross's body, blood dripping from his razor.

Drip. Drip. Drip.


End file.
